


Catch a Falling Star

by Saber_Sloth



Category: Changeling: The Lost, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Elvhenan is Something like Arcadia, Elvhenan x Arcadia Fusion, Evanuris are like Keepers/True Fae, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas - Kind of, Second Edition-Runnerswift - Oracle - Moonborn Tri-kith - beacuse I can, Slavery, Slavery is linked to her Durance, Trespasser Spoilers, mentions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Sloth/pseuds/Saber_Sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She had been so stupid. She knew what was out there. <em>Knew</em> with an absolute certainty of what was out there. - She, and a few girls took some old tarot cards, a case of coolers to the abandoned house on the hill. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Lily thought that it was such a cliche, that none of the <em>real</em> monsters called this place their lair.</p><p>She was wrong. So very, very wrong."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Dreams lay Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my Elvhen is from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.
> 
> Translations:  
> Uthenera: literally "long sleep" or "endless dream" is a slumber-like state which elders of the ancient elves voluntary entered when they became weary of life and memories  
> Da'asha: Little women.  
> Shem'len n. Quick children, it's modern used is as derogatory slang for non-dalish. Used usually to refer to humans.

—

 

He entered her dreams. He _needed_ to know the women who now held an imprint of his foci, his magic, his mark. Her magic felt strange, foreign and familiar. It was lighter than the blunt tool that the mages of this age wielded, but at the same time, untested, and lacked discipline. Flaring out from her as he worked on the Mark as she lay dreaming, while the Templar guards pressed in on them.

He needed to know how much his foci had altered this girl.

He was in a forest, old and otherworldly. Was this Dalish girl, the mark of Dirthamen proudly upon her brow, dreaming of her clan? He supposed it would bring her comfort, if she feels the echoing remnants of the pain her waking body feels.

He let his feet carrying him closer to where the girl would be. He could hear huffing breaths, pounding feet, it was like all other forest sounds ceased. What could this girl be running from, to bring her a dream as this?

He cast his magic out, softly, lightly. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't something created from a spirit. It was a memory. He frowned, he didn't think forests of this age could _feel_ like this.

He could hear hounds baying in the distance.

The girl's huffing breaths and steps faltered for a moment before they resumed their steady tattoo.

Who was chasing her?

Who _had_ chased her?

His mind tried to find answers, but he could only think that it must have been someone wanting an exotic Dalish pet. His frown deepened. If she had recently escaped captivity...that would explain...much.

With a sigh he quickened his pace, intent on finding her so that he could change this memory into a dream of something more pleasant.

He was close now, he could almost see the raven black of her hair through the branches. He heard a twig snap under her foot. She slipped on the mud as she tried to jump over a small stream.

Then he heard a sound he never thought he would hear again.

A very familiar horn sounded.

The girl's startling fade-touched eyes blinked rapidly, her breath, quickened, as she scrambled to get up. There was a thunk of an arrow as it hit the tree she just passed, catching strands of her hair with it. Both hunter and hunted knowing that the arrow had missed on purpose.

There was a cackling laugh behind him, as the hounds continued to howl.

Solas stared in shock at the arrow embedded in the tree trunk. Golden, fletched with griffon feathers, a perfect piece of craftsmanship. Behind him he could hear a cackling laugh and the tinkling of silver bells.

Solas woke, so shocked was he, that he couldn't keep himself asleep.

This girl was running from Anduril.

 

—

 

After he calmed his heart. Failed to calm his racing thoughts, he checked his wards, and placed a mild spell to ease himself to sleep, so he could seek her out in the Fade once more, nearly running in an effort to reach her in time. He could still hear Anduril's hounds always and ever baying just out of sight.

The huffing breath and ever present steps brought him to the girl as sure as they had the night before. How could an elvhen be here, now? Had she woken from uthenera as he had? If so how had she made her way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and assumedly his foci?

Shaking his head to banish his questions. They wouldn't be answered now.

He turned his gaze onto the da'asha. Her cloths were barely that anymore, just hanging off her thin frame. Even in their ruined state he could tell that they were once robes that any slave would have envied the wearer of. The fabric, the colours, the style would have marked the wearer as someone who was held in the highest esteem. They were not of Anduril’s crest and colour, nor of her lover Ghilan'nain. They were something one of Dirthamen would have given those he highly prized. Which matched the brand on her brow.

But why was she being chased by Anduril and not in one of Dirtheman's tempels. Or one of the many laboratories. He hoped that Dirthamen hadn't ordered her to spy on the Huntress wearing what she had, and was now being hunted for her troubles.

He watched as the girl tripped again. This time after checking over her shoulder, foolishly, she tripped over a root that hadn't been there before. Magically appearing to snare her. She landed hard on her hands and knees, he could hear the crack of her wrist. She shook violently, but stayed where she was. She breathed deeply. Resting for a moment.

He was watching her, and not the forest around him. He knew what would happen when Anduril caught up to the girl. He wanted to know _why_ The Huntress was chasing this girl. He searched his own memories, he didn't recall Dirthamen using Anduril to hunt down one escaped slave...no matter how...prized.

He watched as she looked up, her eyes rounding, as she inhaled sharply. He followed her gaze. In front of her was...a great white wolf, one with six blue eyes.

He has rescued and freed many slaves. He remembered all of their faces. He would not do them the disservice of forgetting them. But he couldn't place her face.

This wasn't him. Just an aspect. A small piece of him, drifting away from the whole. He could accomplish such at the height of his power. He had rescued, freeing many others in such a manner. In this moment he might have been at a gala, festival. Somewhere that he was seen, an alibi. After saving these men and women he would have become whole once more. Gaining the memories his second-self experienced.

He still couldn't place her face.

He watched as the wolf nosed her until she was sitting atop his back, her slim blood stained hands grasping the white of his fur.

The wolf huffed, and took off like the wind.

 

—

 

When the Seeker allowed him to see the elf-elvhen girl they kept in the dungeons he knew how to aid her recovery now. He was trying to integrate his magic, his mark's magic with the blunt, and sludges magic of this age. He didn't have to _do_ that. If fact had he kept trying, he might have done irreversible damage to the da'asha

With new eyes he looked upon her. The mark of Dirthamen, not grey, but a sliver, nearly gleaming with magic, styled as it had been in ages past. Her hair, long, unbound and raven black, what he and many thought were feathers woven into her hair were actually apart of her hair. Her nails were sharp and black. Her skin was as pale as captured moonlight. There was a strange airiness, gentle breezes seeming never ending around her. She was light, he heard, hardly weighing anything at all when she was moved to this dungeon room.

What had the other Evanuris done to her to alter her so profoundly....this da'asha must have a indomitable will. A focus so keen to be able to contain herself as she had. In her sleep her magic has placed a mask hiding herself so the shem'lens around them wouldn't see the truth. The horrible truth of how her enslavement change her. Solas sighed. He _knew_ he didn't want to know what she had endured. Most likely it would be too traumatic for her to remember in full.

Setting to work he gently he placed wards, weaving them within her own aura, adhering them to his mark. Slowly, ever so slowly, but not slow enough, never slow enough in this shem'len world of his own failures, he worked. Easing her overwrote self with his strength. It was the least he could do for her.

He let out a breath he did not know he was holding, giving a ghost of a smile. He worked all day. It was most assuredly night now. He let his mana shape itself into a healing spell and let it wash over her. Pleased when her breathing eased. Then he weaved a simple enough spell into her mind, any slave of Dirthamen would know what to do with it, giving her the language and some of the more recent history. He would not leave her stranded in this world.

"I have done all I can do. The rest is up to her now."

 

—

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this idea has been kicking around in my brain for a very long time. When I saw the sneak peek for Second Edition Changeling: The Lost, Kiths, the idea quickly hog tied my muse, I had all of this written up a while ago, I just wanted to re-read through before posting. A few nights ago, my mind said "Nope!" and I had to re-write the entire beginning, this prologue and the greater portion of the next chapter. It's better now. But at the time it was quite frustrating! So this is more of a fusion, for the Changeling portions then a true crossover, I hope that comes across okay.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, please tell me if there are any errors, I do not have an editor/beta!
> 
> And Please tell me what you think! Reviews make my day! ♡♡♡


	2. Life Sucks. Then you die. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Elvhen heavy chapter, but that is on purpose. Translations at the end to avoid spoilers.

—

 

She had been so stupid. She knew what was out there. _Knew_ with an absolute certainty of what was out there. She stood in the middle of her family's fight, their secret war. Neither really knowing the truth of the other. When her birth mother had OD'd, her and her twin brother came as a package deal in the orphanage, and June and Roger Hart knew that, and adopted them both.

June worked full time as a cop. Detective. She was good at her job, but that meant that she was never really home. Which Roger preferred. That asshole liked his women girls. During one of their conversation he told her that June was asexual, but not aromantic. That's why they worked as a couple. June didn't need to know that he did have sexual desires. She could sometimes still feel his hands on her skin. Roger would always taunt that he married a cop, and she wasn't doing anything to save her. Why would any of the other cops help her?

It didn't last long, her brother, Vale, killed him when he got home from baseball practice early one day. Only, _he_ didn't kill Roger. He turned into a giant wolf rage-monster and tore him to pieces. Picaso'ing the wall in Roger's...bits. Wolf-Vale, covered in Roger's blood fled, leaving her cowering until June came home that night.

Turns out June knew that monsters existed. She had friends that liked to hunt them. She picked up her own rifle, to hunt the beast that killed her husband and raped her adoptive daughter.

She never told June that she had it the wrong way. She never once said that it was Vale who saved her.

Her brother found her a few days later, June told her that Vale was at a sleepover or something with friends, just so she would know where he was. Then he ran away from home when he never came back.

Apparently she was supposed to forget he turned into a huge wolf. The guys he was with - his pack - called her kin. She told them June was trying to find them, hunt them.

And so she stayed in the middle. Legally living with the women who wanted to kill her brother.

Something like that takes a toll. So one night she just wanted to blow off some steam. She, and a few girls took some old tarot cards, a case of coolers to the abandoned house on the hill. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Lily thought that it was such a cliche, that none of the _real_ monsters called this place their lair.

She was wrong. So very, very wrong.

What was living there wasn't bloodsuckers her brother's pack warned her about. Not their human enemies. Not even another pack.

It monstrous. Huge and grotesque. _Wrong_. Stitched together. Using dead flesh. She could smell it before she saw it. Bloated, fetid. It flew into a rage when it saw her friends and her.

She watched as it pulled apart Maddie like she was string cheese.

It grabbed Nicole's head and kept bashing her...face into the wall. It didn't stop until the plaster fell off in sheets. It dropped Nicole in a heep.

It lumbered towards Jenny. The world froze for a moment. Sound dimming and light leaving. Jenny quiet and still. Her pupils blown wide and black. The monster didn't seem to see Jenny. Swerving away from her in that frozen moment. And instead stalked forward towards her.

It was going to kill her and she was going to die.

She was going to die.

Just like Maddie. Just like Nicole.

Just a bloody smear. That _thing_ was going to kill her!

She didn't want to die!

If there was any time her wolf-y blood to kick in now would be it.

It didn't.

The monster grabbed her arm. Hefting her up in the air, then readied its other arm, straightening out it's fingers and used them to bury itself in her stomach.

It was then that she screamed. Choking on her own blood and spit.

It was then she saw the madness clear from the monster's eyes. Horror, and sorrow, and self-hate replacing it.

It took it's hand from her belly. Gently taking her to it's arms, like a baby. It rocked her. Singing nursery songs it's voice soft, and sweet. Nothing like how she imagined it to be.

As the world faded from her eyes she saw Jenny approach the monster. Her movements steady, even. "I walked the paths of Stygia. Climbed the Tower of the Lead Coin." her words spoken, the monster nodded along. Like that made any sense. "Maddie is beyond my reach. She has passed completely to the other side. Nicole is _Bound_ and wakes now." she could hear groaning coming from where Nicole had been dropped, where there had been none before. "Lily. Sweet-Lily. Tiger-Lily. I never thought your soul would be so bright. So full of _life_ and _light_. I cannot let you die like this. I hope this works Sweet-Lily. Tiger-Lily."

Then the world faded away.

At first she thought that it was a prank. Maybe one of Vale's werewolf-y friend did some mojo. Pranking her. Maddie couldn't be _dead_ , Nicole, bound - whatever _that_ meant! - And whatever strangeness happened to, to - she can't remember her name! Why couldn't she remember her _best_ friends _name_!?

They all got together to-to make her think that everything around her was huge.

But...that didn't explain why she couldn't recognize...anything.

At all.

She was laying on grass. Silver and green in a way that wasn't possible. Towering trees, that reached, and reached and _reached_ their canopy should have shielded her from the sky but it didn't. The sky, clear, and blue. So blue. So impossibly blue.

Crystalline shapes twisted around the magnificent ever reaching branches. Silvers and blues. Greens and golds. Coming from _somewhere_ farther up than the height of the leaves.

Wh-where was she?

A monster _killed_ her.

Weird _shit_ happened to her friends.

And now she was lost. Alone. She should be dead. Or in pain. But-but—She started shaking. She couldn't contain the wail that escaped her throat.

As she wailed, ugly tears began streaming from her eyes. She thought that Vale would come and save her. That he, and his pack would find her and rescue her from wherever she was and he would hug her and they would get icecream. Eat some cookie dough, or frozen yogurt, or—

"Emma lath, inana, lah ar'an harthem da'lan lahnal..." a light melodic voice sounded.

But that...but that...Lily thought dully....she recognized a few of those words....

"Vin, ra britha." another voice, obviously male, but no less musical replied.

Emma lath is my love. So they're a together. Lily thought, That is if their speaking in Dragon Age elvish. But why would, and how could, the Dalish talk like that?

Her brother could turn into a werewolf. She knew vampires were real. He heard the pack talking about Spirits and wizards before. It didn't seem outside of the realm of possibility for her to actually _be here_.

"As'sasha. Ha'lam'shirem? Din. Asa salhasa'nas soun. Elgar'or? Mala veremal dun? Sulrahn darem del, sul asa ea sasha. Emma lath, ar'nuven ama asa."

Lily let the voice wash over her. She couldn't understand the words. The two elves towered over her. They were like giants. She could see the points of their ears. What was confusing her was their bare faces.

The women, her like spun gold, pulled back and braided in something she thought could be straight out of Game of Thrones. She had dangling white beads and bells with a blue enamel weaving throughout her hair. She crouched next to her. Her long finger tracing the length of her nose. Lily tries to wiggle away.

The man, his hair is black as pitch. With golden eyes, and bronzed skin. Knelt next to his...wife? Speaking to her, but looking at Lily.

"Ar melin asa Blartera." the man declares, his musical voice firm.

"Ahnsul 'Ma'len?" the women questions, still poking at her. Lily tied to move away, a frown marring her features.

"Asa hamal tael blarteral." the man says blandly. Lily didn't understand. She knew some elvish-elvhen, (this had to be elvhen, the rhythmic way they spoke echoed what she knew of the language.) but nothing like _this!_ She played Dragon Age and read fanfiction, but this would require subtitles.

The women laughs. Moving from poking at her, to trying to pick her up. Lily flinches away, trembling, and a cry broke it's way through her. The women's sunset coloured eyes sparkle, "Asa diane i'geal. Nere Da'mol on'el."

"Nere. Y'asa melin Blartera." the man says just as firmly as he had the last time.

The women laughs and picks her up and lets her rest in the crook of her arm, leaning into the man, her husband, and whispers. "Ar lath ma."

 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Emma lath, inana, lah ar'an harthem lahnal da'lan lahnal...: My love, look, the sound we heard, a girl child crying...  
> Vin, ra britha: Yes, it appears (so)  
> As'sasha. Ha'lam'shirem? Din. Asa salhasa'nas soun. Elgar'or? Mala veremal dun? Sulrahn darem del, sul asa ea sasha. Emma lath, ar'nuven ama asa.: She is alone. Abandon? No. Her spirit, soul is strong. Was she a Spirit? Now taking a body? Something went wrong, for her to be alone. My love, I want to keep her.  
> Ar melin asa Blartera.: I name her Lily.  
> Ahnsul 'Ma'len?: Why my husband.  
> Asa hamal tael blarteral.: She lays next to a lily.  
> Asa diane i'geal. Nere Da'mol on'el: She is filled with fear. Maybe little mouse would be better.  
> Nere. Y'asa melin Blartera: Maybe. But her name is Lily.  
> Ar lath ma: I love you.


	3. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Dir'vhen'an ajual: oath crafter.  
> sui'hyn: sweet wine.
> 
> Ashiwyn, F. name meaning, she who travels like the hare.  
> Siuona, F. name meaning, good and sweet.  
> Sura, F. name meaning, power of the dream.  
> Soufeis, M. name meaning, Strength of countless wolves.

—

 

It didn't take as long as Lily thought to get used being called Blartera. She still sometimes laughed when she thought that her new father, named her 'Lily' in elvhen.

Blartera now knew that she was in Thedas, or rather, Elvhenan. She lived with her new family in Arlathan. The crowned jewel, the capital city of the Elvhen empire.

It was a sparkling city spread out far and wide. A city without limits, or impossibilities. Glittering and altogether foreign, even now, even after years of living within. Intricate towers of beautiful white stone, and roads lit by softly glowing lights, mage-lights and wisps alike, runes inlaid with silver and gold, etched into artful pillars and lanterns that drift beneath their own power, coloured banners sing throughout the city.

Several buildings float, using intricate wards and spells only known to few. The only way of reaching them was by elvuain.

Pearlescent spires etched with gold and silver leaves. Magically changing into real trees. Branches reaching the sky. Carefully placed, until they created perfection. The city was sectioned off, clear lines were drawn. Places made of wood and stone were used for parks and for the smaller shrines dedicated to all of the Evanuris. Chariots made crystal-glass were to travel between the sections of the city. Each section dedicated to one of the Gods. Each section reflecting the God that controlled it.

You would find forges, and markets full of different crafting materials. Everything from steel, and stone to paints and pastels, in the section of the city dedicated to June, but you wouldn't anything like that in the part's controlled by Falon'din.

They lived the part of the city dedicated to Mythal. It was simpler in comparison to the other sections of the city, but there was a subtle elegance, the materials used to create and maintain the section of the city dedicated to Mythal were always of the highest quality.

Her father, named Candor was something called a Dir'vhen'an Ajual, an oath crafter. His duty allowing him, and his family, to live comfortable. He was used as a mediator, a bonder, between two or more parties and his magic wove oaths, pledges and vows between them.

He also knew when someone who crafted that vow using him, broke it. He would tell the authorities, and they would deal with it. To be an oath-breaker in Elvhenan....Blartera shuddered. No one else was punished as harshly as they. They were Forewarn, Forsaken, Fallen. They became Nothing. Their word was never trusted again, and they were exiled from Elvhenan.

People whispered, that so far away from the heart of civilization, it quicken them. They would die, not from battle or of a broken heart, but of old age. Sickness, and a million other things.

She still didn't know why she was transported to Elvhenan in a body of a small elvhen girl, to be found by a loving bonded couple, but she wasn't complaining. She always felt left out, alone. Vale had his pack, and now she had loving parents.

Maybe this is what the friends she can never recall the name of, meant.

They thought that she was once a Spirit. One a fear who had been embodied.Dreaming born is what they were called. Blartera hadn't dissuaded them of that notion. It let her ask questions someone her physical age would already know.

Her new father, was Dreaming born. He had been a Spirit of Candor and helped adjust to being elvhen whenever she had floundered, or made a blunder, of which there were many. Her knew mother, a Waking born, meaning she had been born elvhen, chose the name Whimsy during her coming of age.

Blartera learned that the Elvhen chose names that reflected emotions to be closer to their Spirit born kin, something that describe their primary attribute. Or something they wished was.

Her new parents were the stereotype of opposites attract. Candor and Whimsy, but they matched in a way that Blartera could feel it in the air. Their love sang between them, even when they were apart.

When her grasp of the language grew large enough to tell them her age, which she had to speak truly, her new father could tell if she spoke lies, they were horrified to learn that she wasn't yet twenty. They told her that it wasn't her fault, she was just a baby. Not even a true Spirit they said, she must have been a wisp. Someone must have used foul magic to force her into elvhen shape when she was too young. Most Spirits don't even gain an aspect strong enough to identify until they were close to a century. To learn she was barely two decades....they took over protective parenting to the next level.

She was closer to two centuries now. Not yet an adult. Not in their eyes, not in anyone's really, but she was in lessons most of the day now and they didn't worry over her then, only when she was home and they didn't let up. She knew they _meant_ well, but Blartera was annoyed with their smothering.

She and a few other of her friends, girls around her age, too young to chose their own names yet, snuck away from their lessons.

It was a warm autumn day. Ashiwyn told them that she found an abandoned shrine. She brought them there. No one had cared for this shrine is years. Broken and overgrown. Siuona, and her sister, Sura brought sui'hyn and a bubbly magical drink that had them all giggling. It tasted like strawberries and cream. While they frolicked in a field and the sun warmed them. Blartera hadn't known alcohol could taste and _feel_ like that.

"Here Blartera! Just as you told me about!" Sura whispered, a conspiratorial edge to her voice.

"The cards?" she asked after finishing a sip.

"Yes!"

"Augh _those things_! They are the reason Sura's hasn't been modeling for _me_! What are they for?" Sura's twin sister Siuona brakes in.

"Shh!" Ashiwyn hisses, "Just watch! _You_ might not remember what Blartera told us because you were gazing longingly at Soufeis' _ass_ but we do!" Ashiwyn giggles.

Siuona flushes, sputtering denials. She and Suna join in Ashiwyn's laughter.

Blartera takes a breath shuffling the cards in her hand. She had told her friends about her tarot cards a few years ago. She had no idea that Sura had made her new ones. She was looking at the artwork. Flawless. Showing her friend's mastery of her craft. Suna's and Siuona's parents both Dreaming born; Curiosity, and Inspiration, they were famous for their paintings and sculptures. Highly prized, they lived in the section of the city dedicated to June.

Ashiwyn smiled when she noticed that she stopped admiring the art, flaring her aura out she called a few wisps to her. Letting the small spirits light the area.

Blartera grinned at her friend. Sura and Siuona were still bickering, about the muscle definition of Soufeis' arms. And which medium would be the best to use for his sculpture. Siuona preferred clay and stone, whereas Sura enjoyed working with paints and pencils. Blartera shook her head at them as she used her own magic to infuse the cards she was shuffling between her hands.

Ashiwyn snapped her fingers, and the twins fell silent. Blartera smiles asking which one wanted their fortune told.

The fun only ended as the dawn light painted the sky. Each of the girls slowly falling into the Dreaming. The alcohol bottles empty. The little wisps long gone. Blartera curled around her new tarot cards, as her eyes drifted shut, they looked to one of the broken statues. For the first time she could tell what it was....a raven, it's wings broken.

 

—

 

When Blartera woke, she was in a shadowed room. Only the distant stars for light. She had been placed in a chair in front of a table. Her new tarot cards sitting in a neat stack in front of her. There was a figure concealed in the shadows of the room across from her. Vaguely she should see the outline of a bird. Two, on his shoulders. She looked down at the cards, and took the hint. She shuffled them, focusing her thoughts and magic on them and the figure in front of her she began telling him his fortune.

Her parents would save her. She was the daughter of Mythal's premier Dir'vhen'an Ajual. Someone would come for her.

Years and months of countless reading later, she realized that no one was coming to save her. She thought then, that in one life her brother was a werewolf. In this one, she was at the top of her classes. She could save herself.

She didn't.

Days and weeks. Months and years. Minutes, moments and eons. She gave her master readings. After a while she ceased to even need the cards to read his future. She was a favoured pet. Always and ever by his side. That is how she came to know to know his title. Keeper of Secrets.

Her master was Dirthamen.

She remembered then, her master turned from his guest, a thin man, his hair black as pitch, his eyes sliver. Clad in the finest robes. Jewels woven onto the fine fabric, glittering like stars. They were even woven into his hair. Artfully placed, and perfect. She caught sight of a small nearly spectral elf off to the side. Vallaslin identifying their master. Falon'din. When you were _his_ slave, death wasn't the end.

The Brothers were drinking something, chatting. Dirthamen, her _master_ cupped her cheek with his hand. He rubbed her forehead with his thumb. It stung. The next time a moving mirror was called to him, she glimpsed her reflection. It was vallaslin. He placed his _vallaslin_ upon her brow.

She whimpered. She could never go home now.

She was his slave.

 

—

 


	4. Augur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Changeling's Durance is not a happy thing. I'm simply going over it in broad strokes, but I am raising the rating, just encase. To have my OC grow into/develop the Moonborn Kith, instead of something like a Bright One, it's going to get a bit dark. I'm going to be drawing upon the Cthulhu Mythos, as well as several other staples of the horror genre for inspiration. I hope I do them justice, but we'll be getting more into that _next_ time.
> 
> Translations:  
> Eolaselan'mah: oracle, prophet, seer.  
> Suin Da'elgar: my word for Whisperwisps. Lit. Quiet small spirit.  
> Leal'sa: Bright One.  
> Amaha'eolas: my word for Antiquarian. lit. to protect old knowledge.

—

 

It was forever and a day, or perhaps no time at all when Dirthamen tied of Eolaselan'mah, (not Blartera, never Blartera. Not anymore.) by his side.

She was moved to the highest point of his tallest tower. Living in his greatest library. This library specialized in whispered truths. Half forgotten sighs. Whispered plan, and Oh we shouldn'ts.

She only saw another was when one of Dirthamen's Suin Da'elgar, his Whisperwisps, or his little birds, flittering spies more bird than her, flew by, dropping off secret, after secret.

Her standing orders were to tend to the library. Organize the secrets. And always approach him if she had any flashes of insight. Even if her interrupting him meant suffering his displeasure.

It wasn't the life she pictured years ago when she was giggling with her friends. Both times. In the _Before_ , Before Elvhenan. And when she trespassed on the not quite as abandoned shrine of Dirthamen and spoke of her friends fortunes.

It was a simple life. One she was content to live. There were others...worse off than she.

Within the library she learned. Listening to the whispered secrets as she sorted them. Shelving recording crystals, scrolls and books. After a time, even the ever present darkness failed to hinder her.

She had changed. Just as all of the slaves serving one of the Evanuris. Before she was in this position, she thought that the vallaslin was used to mark a slave. Make them know who owned them.

While that was still true. There was more to it.

As they slaved and worked for their Masters, their Keepers, (wouldn't the Dalish rake at that.) Their forms changed. There was no Veil. Not yet. With the magic in everything, their forms change, shaping themselves to better match what their Keepers want from them. What they want them to do. Or something taking on whichever whim struck their Keepers fancy. Sometimes afterward they were unrecognizable. Only their vallaslin telling them apart.

Her movements were quick and birdlike. As were most of those who served Dirthamen. Emulating Fear and Deceit. They were never Truth and Compassion. Not here. Not ever. Her hair sprouting feathers, her eyes large and black, shifting colours in the light. Her nails grown long and talon like. Her skin a soft gentle imitation of moonlight, her own self making a light she could use in the ever present darkness of Dirthamen's towering library.

She knows that if her Master keeps her here. In his library she will change more. Adapting to it as she had her name, her title, her role and purpose; Eolaselan'mah.

A wispy secret pulled around her talon. Her head tilts, as thought strikes her. She never thought that the Elvhen Gods could be likened to True Fae, from the half remembered tales from her life _Before_ , but...she draws outs as she places the whisper next to a sigh, perhaps she should have.

These Elvhen Gods...not even really elvhen. Alien. Lovecraftian in their horror and whimsy. Eolaselan'mah frowns minutely. She hadn't thought of Candor or Whimsy in years.

She wonders if they looked for her. She wonders if they had another child. She hopes they did. They were great parents. Even now, after uncounted years apart, she loved them still.

If they were to see her now, would they even _see_ her? Would their eyes find the brand of Dirthamen and float over her? Would they see her alien appearance and recoil in horror?

When she realized the truth of her fellow slaves she nearly did.

The moving mirrors found in the towers, and grand halls were once people. The simple references that aided her in her tasks were once people. The fire the candle light, once a person. The statues, even the breeze. All were people once. Some of these books were bound in skin. More were once like her, until they learned to much, or they didn't learn enough. It was a fine line she would have to walk if she wanted to continue living.

Dirthamen had been creating and categorizing the variations of that which elvhen slaves changed for years uncounted. Ever since the realization that the elvhen slaves changed, giving them name of purpose that way, instead of after their primary attribute. As was proper in civilized society.

She is Oracle. Eolaselan'mah. That much in certain. Cemented. Concrete. Forever. Eolaselan'mah will be a part of her as long as she lives, but now she is growing, changing. Adapting. While she glows, her skin giving off an imitation of moonlight, it is not constant and ever present. She cannot be categorized, Leal'sa, Bright One, not yet at least. She knows, that's to her duties here in the Library that her Keeper wishes for her to become Antiquarian, Amaha'eolas.

At least her Master is allowing her transformation. Adaptation, to happen naturally, instead of experimenting in one of his great many laboratories.

Then one unassuming morning she had a vision.

Her Keeper, her Master was speaking with another. A wicked looking thing, stretched skin over sharp angles, with blades for fingers and a broken glass grin. Her Keeper needed to _know_. Always needing to know. Jealously guarding his knowledge and secrets, like a dragon guarding it's gold. This time he wanted to know if he could increase her visions. It had been far too long since she had gone to him. But she had last gone to him minutes-moments ago. So he tasks this wicked thing to cut her open and rearrange her insides.

And for the first time in minuetsdaysyearsnever - forever she thought of escaping. Plans came quickly to her mind. She left a moan floating in the air, as she stood there, her internal glow flickering as she blinked away ideas that would have her captured, and flayed. Vivisected and on display. Until there was one option left.

Quickly she found a bag, small and light, but spelled to hold impossible things. She grabbed small secrets and large ones. Blackmail, sighs, and whispers and the moan she left floating. She stashed them in the bag.

Next she when to the kitchens, and informed the staff that they were to prepare a feast, using her authority as Eolaselan'mah. She said that doom would befall them all, if her orders were not carried out. Her words carried throughout Dirthamen's domain. She continued to do nonsense tasks, telling those that would listen that if she didn't doom would befall them, and soon the entirety of his twisting shadowy domain was in motion.

She was sure a few others took the time to escape as well.

The magic making the individual realms the Evanuris lived in had it's own rules. Archaic rule, laws only known in full to the Master of the Realm. This realm in reference to old fairy stories she half remembered she named it Arcadia, she really should have known better.

As her heart calmed and she took the time to breath, she found to her despair, that her desire to be free of Dirthamen was stronger than any desire to go home. To be safe, hale and whole.

Instead of a way out of Dirthamen's realm she found herself in another. This realm wasn't anything like the sprawling, towering shadowed castle, twisting and turning over itself, a labyrinth, made entirely out of secret passageways and dead ends.

This place was...nothing. Darkness, piled upon darkness. Once more glad for her dim moonlit glow, using it, she could see if squinted her eyes. The floor felt solid, stone-like beneath her feet.

She couldn't see any walls or windows. The air tasted stale.

She took a tentative step away from what she assumed was the entrance lay. Her back was towards it. It had been the way she came. Nothing jumped out at her. None of the Evanuris had suddenly appeared. Snatching her away to give back to Dirthamen. She took another step forward, and another. There had to be an end to this darkness, somewhere.

Slowly the tense ball of icy fear loosened, her heart beat steadied. There was nothing here. No one here.

The instant she was well and truly clam. Smiling lightly for the first time in years the world shuddered around her. The stones floor beneath her feet disappeared, replaced by something moving, writhing, slithering. Snakes and tentacles crawling over her feet, and up her ankles. The slightly stale air, replaced by something putrid, fetid. Bile rose, and only her own force of will kept it down.

She tried to pull her feet away, the heavy tentacles weighing her down and pulling and pulling and _pulling_ were not there. But she could _see_ them! _Feel_ them! They were curling around her calves, pulling and pulling and pulling.

She kicked her foot up, nothing was there.

She ran. The writhing floor, solid and immaterial. She could hear skittering and clicking, whoever- _what_ ever was making the noises just out of sight. Her flight continued until she skidded to a stop. There were torches with veilfire lightening them, casting everything in a sickly green glow.

Elves were lining the walls. Their faces free of vallaslin. Their eyes rotting where they lay, in their sockets, some in pockets, most on the floor. She had been stepping on their _eyes_! Their flesh was rotted, peeling, with maggots crawling in an out of them.

She couldn't move. She didn't _want_ to move. Something was breathing on the back of her neck.

Something wet splattered on her cheek. She slowly, ever so slowly trailed her eyes upward.

There was a sky. But she was inside. And it was wrong. Clouds the wrong colour, curling and twisting around themselves, thunder booming, the elves lining the walls moving in synchronicity, as they clawed at themselves. Lightning cracked, braking the sky apart. Again and again and _again_.

She stood there, her feet anchored to the as her heart beating so wildly she thought that it should have torn itself away from her breast already.

The wetness that was splattering her. Was rain, the sky wept, at the sheer _wrongness_ of this Realm. Only it was red. And it tasted of iron.

 

—


	5. Lunatic's Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really nervous about this chapter. It's very different from what has come before it, it's dark. I hope you guys enjoy.

—

 

This wasn't a realm of one of the Evanuris, this domain held nothing that could resemble what she knew of them.

The Evanuris were not the only gods of Elvhenan.

Eolaselan'mah was not the only one who walked this realm. Husks of People, serpentine tongues behind yellow pointed teeth, too many to possibly fit in their mouths, and yet _they did_. Under the too flowery perfume, they smelled like rancid lard, and rot. They were the most pleasant to inhabit this Realm.

There were others, twisted. Wrong. As faceless as other figures that had become familiar. At first she thought they were perpetually hugging themselves, it was only later that she realized these creatures were trapped in straight jackets made of their own skin.

Sometimes these figures wore vallaslin. If they were lucky, it still lay where their faces should be. If not...more than once she had seen the painted lines on clumps of skin, that imitated arms, or on their sides.

More often than not, she couldn't see any of the painted lines that marked slaves. Eolaselan'mah wondered if that meant that their bodies twisted so severely that the lines were elsewhere, or it that meant that they didn't have any vallaslin to begin with.

The furniture and architecture, nothing like you could find in Elvhenan. Wooden doors, splintered. White paint peeling. Metal bars, rusted through, but always solid.

Eolaselan'mah cries and yowls inside, and out. Clawing at her face, talons sharp, but never sharp enough to do the job. Her hair is pulled out in clumps, but she has no hair and only feathers remain, because she thinks she's the one who brought this place to the Forgotten Gods, the Fallen Gods, the darker Gods attentions.

_'Lovecraftian in their Horror and Whimsy.'_

She cried bloody bloodless tears as she watches obese, butterball orderlies, and faceless nurses walk back and forth through the small barred window in her heavy metal door. Rusted and solid. They were puppets on strings, their movements jerky, and inconsistent. She could always see a little bit more then most. Flashes and sparks of insight. A trickling stream. Prized by the hoarder of knowledge. Now her eyes were open. Wide. Wide. Wide. A maelstrom of wind and rain and blood and shit.

She was safe here. Nothing and no one could get to her here. In in this room, her cell, she was patient and nothing more. No one special. They called her by numbers or by name. They did not call her 'Mother'.

Eolaselan'mah had drowned under the bloody tears of the broken sky. Decomposed, maggots crawling through her moonlit skin, chewing their way through her organs. She felt all of this, but not. It was distant, because it was distant. She had no body. No fragile shell of decomposing meat to encase her Spirit Self.

She was graphically glimmering, gloriously spectacular. She was Light and Thought and Creation. She alone controls the tides. She alone is the Light in the Darkness. A fickle creature was she, she turns her gaze away from the ants, the small motes of dust floating in the wind, and they in turn, try all as they might to gain her favor.

They worshiped her, and she was Magnificent.

They worshiped her, and she was Mighty.

They worshiped her, and they called her Mother.

Eolaselan'mah woke with a gasp and a shriek, hoping, praying that it had all been a nightmare, that she was still in the towering shadow library. She couldn't have become-become-! Her breath came in short sharp gasps. It wasn't long before she was choking on air.

She wasn't in the Library. Instead her head was against something sold. Rain pitter-pattering against a window. Her head bumping against it, as she was rocked. She was in a car. The leather interior, wrong after so long. The choking smell of exhaust, pungent in a way it had never been before.

Had it all been a dream? Hundreds and thousands of forevers...? Her eyes sought the driver - a small, insignificant mote of dust. Hollow and puppet-like.

It was dark outside, she noticed absently. (Of course it was. It always was. She alone ruled the night! She alone was the Light in the Darkness!) The twisting, writing clouds, the stars glinting like flint in the firelight. She was—The moon was missing.

The car slowed to a stop outside wrought iron gates, twisted and elaborate, waiting for them to open. Her eyes caught sight of the elegant elvhen letters above the gates, Arla or Salhasine, but the longer she stared at the elegant and familiar letters, attempting to comprehend their meaning - nothing in Elvhenan would be named thus - they shifted, changing into awkward letters, strange and alien after so long without seeing them. Only six letters penetrated the haze of long ago memories. Six letters, inexplicable, creating a single word after so long.

She started shaking, tears streaming down her face as she comprehended their meaning.

Asylum.

She was taken from the car by another dust mote. Clawed, clawless fingers tearing the flesh of her arms. Stripped and hosed down then put in a thin shift, and escorted to her room. Her cell.

It hadn't taken her long to realize her relative safety within these four walls. Anchored behind them she can't see the starlight, and long for her place among them once more.

What was outside that door, was much, much worse than what she could do to herself in here....but...but...

"668437." an orderly hissed outside the bars of her cell. She pressed herself back against the far wall. She was safer in here than she was out there. She was more herself in here, then she was out there. _They can't force her back into the sky again in she's in here._

"Shivanathash." the orderly rasped once more. This time unlocked the cell door. Sickening claws that weren't claws but fingers, lunged forward gripping the scruff of her neck with a speed beyond that of the world. "When I call, you answer." a rotting, fetid smell came from the orderly's throat. Nausea swirled up, and up and up. She refused to it spit up. She didn't want to wear it for years, and years, and years.

"Shivanathash." the orderly it's uniform covered with dirt and grease and who knows what else, tried once more.

"Present." She hisses back, "I am Shivanathash." and refused to shiver, for their continued mocking use of the House of her father.

"It is time for your appointment. Follow." The orderly moved, and she did as the monster asked. She wonders sometimes, if this elf that was now a puppet, used to be as she was. Elvhen, who had come to be a plaything of the gods.

She followed the orderly through the twisting decomposing corridors. Peeling paint and rotting wood until they came to a beautiful sight. A solid oak door, intact and whole. A golden nameplate on front of the door. _'D. Veredhe. MD.'_ written upon it.

This was not her first appointment with Doctor Veredhe, as he demanded to be called. She doubted it would be the last.

The orderly knocked on the door, it's skin chipping away like brittle, broken rocks as it did. The varnish wasn't damaged.

There was a calling voice from the other side of the door. The orderly turned the brass knob, and opened the door, pushing her through.

A thick plush carpet meets her feet, as it did time after time. Soft between her bare toes, a warm fire merrily resting in a stone fireplace. One of those lamps, the gold ones with the green lampshade rests on the solid oak desk.

"Ah, Miss Shivanathash, come in, come in," The Doctor says, gesturing to the seat across from him. She blinks, it takes her a moment for the words to register. Doctor Veredhe is speaking English. She gasps, despite the twisting English above the gate, they had only spoke in elvhen before this. Before now. She sits in the char, the man's smile widens, twisting itself into a grin. It's too sharp, it's too large, shattering his illusion of pleasantness.

"I must thank you Miss Shivanathash. Without you none of this would be possible." She had been afraid of that. "But I'm afraid that your time with us is at an end."

"Wha-?" she breathes, the English feeling rough, and awkward after so long speaking Elvhen.

"I need to know if this structure can bare its own weight, instead of laying it on your shoulders."

She shook her head. "Doctor, what do you mean? You're just...letting me go?"

The Doctor, a bland, pleasant, nondescript man. Graying hair slicked back, a soft blue button up shirt, with a black tie, lays under a grey sweater vest. Doctor Veredhe nods, gesturing behind him, "You're bag is by the door. All of you personal affect are within."

She followed the hand her eyes trailing an imaginary line to where the bag lay, and it was her bag. She could still feel the hints of her magic upon it.

Her bag was resting upon the metal door. Her brow furrowed as she stood. The Doctor nodded in encouragement. She stepped the her bag and the metal door, a red glowing 'Exit' sign above it.

"Have a nice day Miss Shivanathash." the man said, suddenly behind her, opening the door for her.

"Thank you." she whispered, her brow furrowed in confusion, she voice full of disbelief as she stepped through the doorway.

"No, no. Thank _you_!" sounded from behind her. She didn't hear the door close. She span in a circle. Nothing was familiar. Instead of the asylum she aided in creating, where she had been moments before, she now stood in a dense primeval forest. Her bag across her body, her grey robes she had once worn in that shadowy library she had fled from...she blinks....she doesn't remember how long ago...it was like it was only a dream.

Or a nightmare.

 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies for anyone who figures out where the 'D' in D. Veredhe. MD. comes from!  
> And Cookies for anyone who figures out why I chose '668437' as her patent number!
> 
> Translations:  
> Arla or Salhasine: House of the Insane  
> Shivanathash: A House name meaning, To do one's duty,specifically, willingly, without being told, with joy and honor.  
> Veredhe n. havoc, chaos, mayhem.


	6. Velocity of the Zephyr

—

 

She stands there stupefied for a moment. The metal fire exit door had disappeared, as if it had never existed. It takes her a moment for her to smooth her furrowing brow.

This place, so different than what she had seen for years uncounted, in this place there was a chance at freedom. She takes a long, deep breath. The air was _clean!_ A high, delighted laugh escapes her throat before she can swallow it. This forest, vibrant and full of _life_ , it has a soft, gentle golden light that filters through the canopy, she can hear birdsong.

Her heart soars. She spins in a circle, giggling somewhat hysterically, a little manically. There are no walls, no boundaries, and the sun is shining! Bright! Bright! Bright! Warm! Warm! Warm!

She wiggles her toe, feeling the grass and soil beneath them, giggling to herself. It wasn't concrete!  _Itwasn'tconcrete!_

She pats the bag resting next to her hip absently sending soft tendrils of magic to weave through it. She blinks a little dumbly, all of the secrets and sighs she had stolen are within. She reaches and reaches her memory back, she thinks they are even in the same order she placed them in too!

Now...she just has to find her way home. If she had a home left. They might look upon her brow and recoil in horror, denial. She was a branded slave of Dirthamen, they might do their duty and send her back. Back, back, back locked up tight. She wonders if she'll be sent to the Library again, or if she would be sent straight to the laboratories.

As she chewed on her lip she picked a direction and started walking.

She was recaptured quickly, her silver moonlit skin now an ever present beacon, by a deceptively slender women, hair red as blood, tied in a high tail, with green enameled bells tied throughout her hair. They chimed as she walked. There was a golden bow slung over her shoulder.

"One of _his_ then?" the women asked rhetorically - blessedly speaking in Elvhen - staring at her brow. "I will give you one hundred heartbeats to flee. After that I will hunt you down, and as you lay dying I will feast on your flesh." She took the bow from her shoulder, and pulled the string tight, notching an arrow. "Run, slave." The Huntress told her. "Run for your life."

With huffing breath and aching heart, she did. It wasn't enough.

The first time the Huntress shot her. The arrow pierced her shoulder, it was then she spouted her first prophecy, and not what she came to call her insight. (Her eyes were _open_ wide, wide, wide.)

"Oh...this makes things much more...interesting." The Huntress stepped on her chest, pulls the arrow back out licking the blood on it. "Run." She had whispered into her ear.

She did.

And so it continued. She wasn't bird enough to fly, but all of this running was changing her faster then her sedated pace of shelving huffing breaths, and scouring through secrets ever did. Purposefully excluding the endless years in the Dark. Where a prison cell was better than the outside world. The world she helped create. Shouldering the burden, _'Mother ma-_ No.Nononono!

She was lighter then she was. The air helping her. Pushing her forward as it became a part of her. She still her bag, filled with it's secrets and sighs. It was slowing her down, weighing her down, but she knew the value of bargain made. And she wished to keep something tangible to bargain with. She didn't want to trade bits of herself away. There's hardly any of her left.

Andruil's, (for who else could this Huntress be?) cackling laughter echoed throughout her forest realm just as surely as the sound of her baying hounds.

It wasn't just the Huntress or her hounds that she had to be wary of. There was larger game in this forest then one escaped slave. Griffons, dragons, and other larger winged beasts controlled the sky. She spied trees with vallaslin painted on their bark, beasts with vallaslin painted on their fur. They were as she was. Just lost longer to the ever and eternal undying hunt.

The longer she lived, the more insistent the Huntress became. She had not grown armor or camouflage. She had not gained a snout, nor wings. She was a novelty, in this realm of kill or be killed, of predator or prey.

The last time the Huntress caught her, she saw curiosity burn within her eyes, before her release. Even as she bled out from the wounds the Huntress inflicted she couldn't help, but let out a whoop of joy.

She felt alive in a way she hadn't in a very long time. Yes, the Huntress caught her, bloodied her, used her, her modesty left behind so pieces of her robes could become bandages when she needs, but she didn't allow herself to succumb. Instead of complacency, as lived in the Library, instead of shattering as she did in the Asylum, she took this time, in a place of light, and birdsong to build herself up. Pieces were missing, wrong shaped puzzle pieces forced into places that didn't fit them, but she almost made up a whole person.

None of the _beasts_ had killed her, and she was valuable enough that to Andruil she was a game of catch and release.

After yearsminuteseonsnever within Arcadia Realms she forgot most of what made her, her, sanding down the edges, of those puzzle pieces, _making_ them work for her instead of always against her, but there was one thing that she couldn't keep from her mind. Not when she was striving to piece together the broken shards of her selves. It was something she used as a distraction when June (hah! June.) would go out hunting, (but June doesn't hunt. he crafts. bang, bang, bang of an anvil - ) or when-when her... _brothertwinwolf_ would tell her about something or other he need to get done.

She would play Dragon Age. Read it. Watch it. Breath it.

Then she lived it. Sort of. Time was not yet recorded in Ages, but it was a touchstone. It made her feel like she was _normal_.

Now she tried to do the same thing as she ran, small eddies of wind swirling around her feet as they beat a steady tattoo against the ground. It was something that could bring her joy. Blushing, stuttering, blonds. Lamppost in winter. Blood Mages. Magic Mirrors. Dragon's blood and drinking songs. Suave assassins. Lyrical bards. Floppy hats. A lone wolf. Storytellers. Smutty Books. And above all else a Great Wolf.

Stories play within her minds as her feet moved her ever onward.

With an ease of long practice she flew past the trees. Under branches, and over roots. She could hear the baying hounds in the distance. Hounds that used to be people. Just like the walking mirrors, the candle light, the trees...her...she used to be _People_ too. As slaves none of them are _of the People_. She thought bitterly, her story breaking apart in a million pieces. The mirror shards fall to the ground. It's jagged pieces cutting into the limbs of the once-people trees. Blood and sap dripped onto the sharp mirrored shards.

Risking it she looked over her shoulder. She should have known better. She landed hard on her hands and knees as she tripped over a root. She heard the crunch of her wrist as it broke under her weight. She could almost hear the laugh of the one-person tree who tripped her.

Cursing as she huffed, her breath always coming in short sharp gasps now. The hounds were still a ways off...she could take this moment...just to rest...build her story back up again...she looks up.

Staring back at her is a great white wolf. She whimpers. They had flanked her!

She thought she was smarter then to fall for this! She should have _seen_ this! What good did it do her. Her eyelids peeled back. Pined in place. Her eyes wide, wide, wide. If she couldn't _see_ anything with them!

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but all six of the great wolf's eerily solid blue eyes, were kind.

Nothing and no one had looked at her in kindness except for Doctor Veredhe in years, but he was the Master of the Asylum. The memory of rotted, fetid flesh. Maggots crawling and chewing, rose up and she swallowed her bile with the ease of long practice. The Doctor was the father of the realm, and he had credited it's birth to her. Supporting it like a newborn, until it could support itself.

She watches the wolf with wary eyes, ready to bolt in the opposite direction, even knowing that way lead back to her new and third Keeper and their ever growing need to hear words she didn't understand come from her mouth. The wolf huffed lightly padding across the forest floor to her, his nose down, then it was under her. Slowly the wolf moved her on to his back. Waiting until she sat properly, her hands grasping his fur tightly.

She didn't know what this could mean for her, but this wolf ran away from the sounds of the calling hounds.

 

—

 

They were a pair now, her wolf and her. She knew not how, nor, why he had came to her but he allowed her to use him as a mount. This Great Wolf. Her Fen'falon. A smooth lyrical voice wove itself within her stories now. It was always there and she tried to see who was speaking, now that she could spare the attention to it. Her Fen'falon running for her.

At first it was just an impression of sound. Words came later. And with it came memory. "Fen'Harel. Solas." She breathed that morning in a rush. Her Fen'falon stilled as she spoke. "Ar lath ma." her voice whisper soft. "Var lath vir sule'din." she mumbled nearly over her previous words.

It was then. In that sudden moment, clarity came to her. She could feel her bond to her Fen'falon snap tight. His essence closer to her mind. A gentle hum. Constant and close. Her heart nearly thundering they turned off the path. Running deeper and deeper into the untamed primal wild that made Andruil's golden gilded forest.

This time she didn't try to implement an elaborate plan. These single realms belonging to the Evanuris were endless and eternal, but there were lines. Rules. She wanted more then anything to leave this place. To be safe. Whole. To find freedom, and love. She wanted go _home_. She crawled through them, the thorns bordering the Huntress’s realm, they bit into her skin she whispered "Emma lath, ir'enal." over and over, as 'Vhenan' echoing within her mind in reply.

 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Fen'falon: wolf friend.  
> Ar lath ma: I love you.  
> Var lath vir suledin: Our love will endure.  
> Ir'enal: I'm coming.  
> Vhenan: my heart.
> 
> Since I'm going to be using second edition's examples for the Kiths, and Seemings, The title is the name of the first edition's Airtouched Blessing, I named it thus as nod to direction I'm taking the Runnerswift Kith. 
> 
> And apparently This fic is on the TV Tropes fanficiton recommendation page. How awesome is that? I honestly thought that this fic was going to be a flop, and no one would like it. I'm glad to be wrong!


	7. Just an elf, and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ahn'anbanal fra asa shosaan: What in the Void is on my feet?

—

 

She blinked her way into consciousness. A bubble was in front of her mind. A glimmering rainbow against the sun. Her magic reached for it. The Hoarder of Knowledge would use them to pass knowledge between himself and his most favored. For a time, that was she.

A flash of memory, knowledge, a language imprinted. She blinked again. That was more than what she had been expecting. A bubble that size used by someone who was not practiced, it might have contained a simple message.

She might have wailed, there were only few. So very, very few who had the skill to place that much information in a bubble that size, if not for what information she received.

The recent history of Thedas. A brief overview. Beginning in the Divine Age, the information becoming more, and more detailed the closer it drew to the Dragon Age. She nearly snorted. Only an ageless being would think that recent.

She felt heavy. Heavy in a way she hadn't felt before. She was wearing green. And metal...Her arms were shackled. She looked down and gasped. Her hand was glowing green. A sharp rune inlaid in the center of her palm.

Weighted. Anchored.

Had her memory created another realm in Arcadia? Had she not escape again? A sorrowful wail bubbled up and up and up - but this placed felt to solid. Real. Heavy. Weighted. Shackled armed, anchored in place.

The door slammed open.

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast circled around her, stopping uncomfortably close to hiss in her ear. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now?"

 

—

 

They step out through the heavy Chantry doors, and she breaths in the crisp mountain air. Then coughs, it's heavy, tainted and magicless.

Not even in the depths of the putrid painted wooden walls she aided in creating had the air lost it's magic.

She collapses to the ground as the anchor flares, forcing her eyes up. She looks into the Breach, absently listening to what Cassandra's saying. The sky is broken. Just like before. _Broken_ apart at the seams. Weeping green Fade-touched rocks. Her breath hitches, and she forces her racing thoughts to still. She can't break down now. It helps, she thinks, that the sun in warming her neck. She looks _past_ the Breach. She feels like she's falling, fading, flying, failing. She blinks hard, tearing her face away from it. It feels like the breath of magic. It feels like _home_.

"I will help. I will find a way to seal the Breach. I promise." she vows feeling the strings of her oath curling around her.

Cassandra grateful smile is worth it.

The Seeker then pulls her through the gambling crowd. She sighs in relief. These angry humans see an elf, and nothing more. They don't see the winds ever sighing as she moved, they didn't see her talon-like nails or her bird like eyes. They don't see her moonlit skin or feathered hair.

Just an elf, and nothing more.

 

—

 

The bridge crumbled out from under then as the Seeker was telling her about the rift. The women, people believed to be Andraste.

Her eyes were already searching for a weapon before the Seeker told her to stay behind her. She knew that there was going to be another shade appearing. She grabbed the daggers and weaved under and around the demon.

Quickly she dispatched it, and watched it slither into death.

"Drop your weapons! Now!"

"Okay." she said as she let go the the hilts as heard them clink on the ice beneath them. She watched in amusement as the Seeker's face betray her shock.

It's agreed that she needs to be armed.

"Why the daggers and not the staff?" the other women asks after she shares her healing potions.

So, they know of her magic, but it isn't like anything they would have seen. "I prefer daggers." she says evenly. She didn't think that she would ever be comfortable with a bow, and do to her third Keeper's endless hunts she had the dexterity to spare.

The Seeker gives her a look but eventually accepts her word.

They continue onward, toward the rift, and...she felt her heart skip a beat.

 

—

 

The rift is glowing green. Crystalline, and formless. Stagnant and ever changing. She watches as the Seeker jumps into the fray. She hops down as well, weaving between the demons with the same ease as she would have weaved between branches and over roots. Insight compensating for for the heaviness of her, now in this stilted Waking, and the heaviness of the borrowed armor. She really doesn't know why she's wearing a codpiece.

Ahn'anbanal fra asa _shosaan?_ she thinks to herself in her frustration, slipping back into elvhen. She would have to watch that.

When the demons are either dead or dying she feels a warm hand grab her wrist. Pulling it towards the rift, she feels Solas' magic guiding her own, gently showing her own to turn the key.

Close the rift.

She looks down at her hand in wonder. That...wasn't how she thought that would feel. She had a key to the Dreaming. And she knew how to lock the door. She smiled softly looking from her hand to the elvhen in front of her. Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, he's here, he's really in front of her!

Fen'Harel the Rebel God. She's met gods before. For them she would have looked away in deference, lest worse be done to her. But for him, she doesn't look away.

 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the lack of updates! My dad, brother and I were in a car accident, and I was in the hospital. We're fine now, but because of hospital bills I couldn't pay my internet bill and yeah...but I have internet back and I hope to get back into the swing of things!


	8. A Wolf named Tamaris and a Bow named Bianca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ir'abelas. Min 'ma falon: my apologies. This (is) my friend.  
> Nuvas ema ir'enastela: May you have great blessings. Essentially, "Thank you so very much," as opposed to just, "Thank you."  
> Nuva lasa su ma enaste: May it give you grace. May it grant you favor. A very formal and archaic form of 'you're welcome,'  
> Tamaris, is a name meaning, your forever second, a poetic way of saying, "best friend forever," or "partner forever"

—

 

Guiding her magic is simple, as if it already knows what it needs to know. After the rift closes the girl looks at her hand, at the mark. A smile tugging at her lips. She looks up at him, he watches as her eyes widen. Recognition sparks. She knows who he is, he smiles when she juts out her chin, and doesn't look away.

"What did you do?" she asks, her fade-touched eyes alight, sparkling with mischief. This is the first he had heard of her voice. It was clear and strong. Her accent like she had been speaking common her whole life. The knowledge he had left her had been put to use it seems.

" _I_ did nothing—the credit is yours." he returns.

"So I _can_ help." she whispers with the right amount of lightness and hope to her tone.

Solas smiles at her, nodding his head. She is good. If not for her aura revealing her emotions to him she might have believed her. He projected his own amusement back, pleased when she bit her lip. It had been too long since he could communicate with another like this. Before turning toward Seeker Pentaghast. "Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky, also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake, and it seems I was correct."

"Meaning it could also close the Breach itself." Cassandra speaks.

"Possibly." He nods at Cassandra, then turns to the girl with a slight smile. "It seems you hold the _key_ to our salvation." the girl's lips quirk upwards and her aura sparkles with her mirth, at his very intentional play on words.

"Good to know," the child of the stone's voice comes from behind them, "and here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever." He smiles at the girl as she turns to him, "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along." He winks at Cassandra, who curls her lips and grunts at him in disgust.

The girl bites her lip, "How long was I...unconscious for?"

"It has been a very long three days."

"Oh." she breathed out. Her eyes were wide reflecting the worry he could feel bubbling from her. He can feel her magic as it reaches out, she brings her fingers to her mouth and give a sharp whistle the same moment her mana shapes into a summoning.

The Seeker and the child of the stone look around nervously, his eyes are on the girl in front of him. He hears something rustling under a bush. Huffing as he paws his way forward. The girl dives into his side. Burying her face into his white fur. The wolf was smaller than what he had seen in her dream-memory. The size of a mortal wolf, and not the mount he had been.

The girl was whispering elvhen nonsense words into his fur.

Solas lessened the hold he had on his magic, letting it softly touch the wolf, who turned his head, seeming to glare at him with his two blue eyes, before huffing and nuzzling the girl clinging to him.

This wolf was once apart of him. A part of him that saved this girl, and carried her into the future.

"And who's this?" the child of the stone asks, warily.

"Ir'abelas. Min 'ma falon." the girl says as she turns, her mind still thinking in elvhen, she swallows when she realized her mistake, "I'm sorry. This is my friend. He is called Tamaris." her forever second...if the ages were not a deterrent from this piece of him from rejoining him. If not seeing Solas in the flesh, feeling his magic, was not a strong enough pull for this once part of himself, then nothing and no one would take the wolf from her. He watched the wolf lean into her side, seemingly accentuating the point.

"And what's your name kid?"

"It is...my name....is gone." she says finally. To name yourself in this new age. To name yourself after regaining freedom...he did not envy her. "That is a nice crossbow you have." she says in a blatant attempt to change the topic.

The child of the stone lets her, "Isn't she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together."

"You named your crossbow Bianca?" a furrow to her brow. He was sure that the child of the stone didn't know that there was a minor spirit of love attached to the weapon, but with the glance the girl was giving it he was sure that she saw it as well.

The child of the stone hums in agreement, "I'm sure she'll be happy to help once we get to the valley."

The Seeker; Cassandra grimaces, "Absolutely not! Your help is... appreciated Varric, but-"

"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me." He smiles, knowing that he won the argument, the Seeker scoffs before turning away from him in defeat.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I'm pleased to see you still live."

He watches as the girl nod, knowing that he wasn't to be Fen'Harel. Not here. Her fingers still haven't let the scruff of Tamaris' neck. The wolf didn't seem to mind.

"He means, 'I kept that mark from _killing_ you while you slept.'" Varric speaks before she could.

"Nuvas ema ir'enastela." she whispers, ducking her head once, but bringing it back up swiftly, still looking him in the eye.

"Nuva lasa su ma enaste." his reply is just as formerly, he waits a moment before turning towards the Seeker. "Cassandra, you should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having this power."

Cassandra nods. "Understood. We should get to the forward camp quickly." She turns and moves off, climbing over a short wall. He follows.

"Well," he can hear the child of the stone say, "Bianca's excited!" And indeed, the spirit giggles, whooping after the child of the stone. It is a shame that only three of them can hear her.

 

—

 

_'My once-self. Solas. Fen'Harel knows you to be of the old world. Elvhenan.'_ She blinked when Tamaris' voice touched her mind. She already knew that, the Dread Wolf _had_ given her a knowledge bubble. Tamaris gives a disgruntled huff within her mind. Her being of Elvhenan...that was...mostly true. If one didn't count the handful of years she lived as a human. Which she really couldn't. Not even two decades she had been human, before she was reborn and found by Candor and Whimsy. Then the uncounted yearscenturiesminutesdays - the time she spent the Arcadian Realms. Could she really call herself elvhen if she wasn't?

Tamaris nudged his nose under her hand, while growling at her thoughts. She gave her fen'falon a slight smile and pressed her gratitude towards him.

They were alike, but he was the one they would have to watch themselves over, he had originally taken his appearance because of her lingering memories of Dragon Age, her knowledge of Elvhenan. Her mirror stories opened the way. The realm around her, benevolent at the moment, sensed her need for companionship, and to even the playing field between her and the Huntress. Created a soul, a spirit to accomplish that. A guardian, a protector, an ally. But also someone who could become the opposite. Her memory, her stories, created his form into a mirror of the Dread Wolf. His fur white, his eye blue because he would aid her, but there was the ever present threat that if she broke the unspoken rules of engagement his fur would blacken, and his eyes would bleed red.

Helpful to Harmful. Trickster to Traitor.

Her whispered words aloud as she reach that moment of clarity, bonded her to the wolf whose fur she still grasped.

And now according to History, Tamaris was not just a mirror of the Dead Wolf, he had once been apart of him. Keeping himself away for his love of her. Protecting her, guiding her and guarding her as she slept. Uthenera. Now the wolf by her side would stay there. Forever.

She wondered if she in that moment before she fell (crawled. inching her way through the thorns. bleeding from hundreds of millions of places and nowhere at all) into the waking, solid, heavy world was that why she had fallen from the rift? The magic opening a path through time and space.

She looked down to her blackened talon like nails.

There was also, Solas' mark on her hand to consider.

She wasn't...she wasn't _'Blartera'_ , Tamaris' mind whispered. _'You were once called Blartera.'_ She wasn't Blartera any longer, and she hadn't been for a very, very long time, she had been Eolaselan'mah when she reached her majority. Came into adulthood. Graduated from ribbons to beads. If slaves were allowed such a thing.

It was one of the reasons why Dirthamen trusted her with his Great Library. She had lived with him for more years then she had ever lived with Candor and Whimsy. The thought that she _wanted_ to escape probably didn't even cross his mind.

Because she hadn't been a person when she should have named herself as she came into adulthood in Elvhenan she didn't have that to fall back onto.

There was no veil so there really wasn't as solid of a line between the Dreaming and the Waking. Many of the Elvhen had been Spirits first. Those born of the Dreaming world, Dreaming born. Still keeping the emotion that defined them as their name. Waking born Elvhen were named when they were small, but as they grew into themselves they took on the Spirit's naming practices. It was why Solas was Solas, and Abelas was Abelas.

She was different. She knew that deep down in her probably now hollow bones.

She wasn't just the mortal kin to a werewolf anymore. She wasn't the thought to be wisp, taken the body of an elvhen girl child anymore. She wasn't a slave whose thoughts only revolved around survival anymore.

She sighed as she grasped Tamaris' scruff. She would need to think.

 

—

 

They continue walking, fighting through demons. The elvhen girl fights with a grace and dexterity he hadn't seen in ages. Seamlessly adding her magic to her strikes.

"So are you guilty?" the child of the stone asks as they climb their way toward the forward camp.

"I-I my memories..."

"That's what you're going with? Memory loss. Should have spun a story. Wouldn't result in premature execution."

"That's what you would have done dwarf." came Cassandra's disgusted voice.

Solas is silent as they venture forward. She is scarce in her words. Is that because she hasn't used many in so many years running from Andruil, something left over from her time with Dirthamen...or...?

He watches as she seals her second rift. Her magic singing as it connected to the Fade through his mark.

They would need to speak.

 

—

 


	9. Not Quite a Skeleton Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Da'lath'in: little heart.  
> Ahn...thu ela min sura? Ahnas garal amahn? : What...how can this be? What's happening here?

—

 

When they look to her for an answer, she stills. She knows from years ago that she would save the scouts if she takes the mountain path, she knows that tangibly, but her insight sparks, and she sees for the first time the cost of either choice.

Would she let the scouts die and demons roaming the mountain mines, but to save a handful of lives that would die as they charged. She knows there is a rifts to close in both places, but there wasn't a reason for her to travel the mountain path once the Breach is stabilized, but there was a reason for her to do that to seal the small rifts in the remains of the Temple.

She chooses the mountain path. Soldiers screaming as they die behind her eyes.

"On your head are the consequences Seeker." the Chancellor speaks, but she shakes her head.

No, they're on hers.

 

—

The key turns the lock, and her third rift seals with barely a thought.

The scouts are grateful for their rescue and Cassandra's nearly tangible relief makes the cost of the charging soldier's lives nearly worth it. She reaches out for Cassandra's aura as she would have any person. Even the people who weren't people. Like her. Or the not people trees. Communicating this way was more second nature to her now, it was instinctive. Even after her uncountable years in the Arcadian Realms, and she was trying to-to—but Cassandra didn't respond. Cannot respond. Sadness wove itself into her aura.

"You are becoming quite proficient at this." Solas commented behind her. His aura encircling hers, reassuring her that there was someone who understood. She nods, gives him a weak smile, and decline to comment. They are halfway to the Temple, to the Breach. And the demon of Pride.

She wonders how Solas will feel about that. To see what he could have become had he not been a Spirit of Pride in ancient times, Dreaming born. To see what the world would have made of him if he had been without a physical form still. She wonders how he will feel about being forced to kill something that could be his kin.

So lost in her thought was she, that she didn't realize they had made the long trek to the Temple until she heard Varric's gravely voice warm them of the red lyrium.

The echoing voices begin as she steps around the disquieting blight-corrupted rocks. Cassandra voicing her confusion, halted when they hopped from the ledge and the vision swills around them life a fog.

_Now is the hour of our victory._

_Bring forth the sacrifice._

_Keep the sacrifice still._

_Someone, help me!_

_Ahn...thu ela min sura? Ahnas garal amahn?_

_Run while you can! Warn them!_

_We have an intruder. Slay the elf._

She doesn't remember any of this. She does, in the faded memories of Before. Her mind aches because there _should_ be something there, but _\- Fat Fear Fed Nightmares -_ Cassandra round onto her, her voice high with distress, "You were there! Who attacked? The Divine, was she—was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

"I don't know!" she shouts back, raising her voice for the first time since her awakening. With a start she realizes that she really doesn't. Not what happened to the Divine, she knows that, but she thought that when she crawled her way through the thorns she had been connected to the Breach...and that was why she fell through the rift, but to hear her voice and see her shape in the Temple...how did she get there?

Why does she have Solas' mark?

She really, really doesn't know.

Cassandra seems slightly taken aback by her response, but before she can reply, Solas speaks up. "Echoes of what happened here... the Fade bleeds into this place." He turns to Cassandra as she moves over to him. "This rift is not sealed, but it is closed—albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, it can be opened, then sealed properly, and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons!" Cassandra shouts to the scouts and soldiers around them, "Stand ready!" She waits until the scouts and soldiers ready themselves.

Tamaris huffs at her side, licking her hand as he moves away from her, reading himself for combat. She worries her lip, while she knows that her Fen'falon will be safe, and if he was wounded he would return to the Dreaming to heal, and she will be able to summon him again, but seeing him without anything for protection...she will need to have armor crafted for him.

Though a thought makes itself known. She might forged something in the Dreaming, in the Fade. The only problem would be if she could take it out of there...

_'Stop fretting Da'lath'in. Will something to be in the Dreaming, place it on me there and when you summon me again in the morning light, it will be there.'_

Softly she smiles as her Fen'falon and sighs.

She raises her marked hand. Feeling the threads that made the Breach. She already knew that this key wasn't large enough. Wasn't the right shape. It wasn't a true skeleton key...yet. But she could stick a wedge under the gap.

Stabilize the Breach, prevent it from opening further.

But first, she needed to open the door.

She turns the key, and heavy echoing laughter greets them as a giant demon of pride steps through. His hands sparking with electricity.

"Now!" Cassandra shouts to the archers, who release a volley of arrows, that bounce off the demon's armored hide harmlessly. At least everyone now knows that the demon has an armored hide. The archers keep peppering the demon with arrows.

Cassandra taunts it forward as she hitting her sword against her shield. Varric's aims for it's back, the small spirit attached to Bianca giggling merrily at every bolt that hit's the demon's ass, and Solas is casting his own spells as fast as he can. Blending what she can remember from her years ago lessons into what passed as magic in this Age.

She stops for a moment to admire his staff work. She will need to get him to teach her how to use magic in the Age. What she remembers from years ago lessons, wasn't anything that could be used in combat, and anything Tamaris could tell her was limited to the memories he gained when she named him in the primal wilds of the Huntress' realm. And none of those, with the veil's heaviness around them would be useful in this new Waking World.

With sigh she ducks and weaves under, over and around the others. Calling air to her, as she spins over them, using that momentum and her own dexterity to climb the small stone wall, using it as a springboard to launch herself onto the Pride demon's back, thinking that would be the best place for her to stab him, while remaining relatively safe.

She breathes a sigh when she feels the lightness of Solas' magic as he casts a barrier over her. With his magic washing over her, protecting her, she felt that she could breath for the first time since she woke.

The demon is annoyed with her she thinks with a smirk. Trying to roll her off it's great shoulders.

Solas refreshes her barrier and she jumps off, landing on the balls of her feet. Swiftly lifting her hand to the sky, and trying to put that wedge in.

It flares out in response the pride demon falls to it's knees, and two shades join the battle. She weaves around them, swiftly and deftly dispatching them. Using the air to sharpen the edges for her borrowed blades. She turns back to the Breach instead of watching them slither into death.

That wedge it almost...in, but her vision blackens. She's not used to using this much power...she feels so...empty...

 

—


	10. A Place Between Sleep and Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So umm...sorry that it's been so long between this update and my last, but my grandma just passed away and I really don't know how I'll be able to keep any kind of writing scheduled, until...well...yeah.  
>   
> So here's a long one to tide you folks over until I get back to myself again.  
> 

—

 

He finds her in the Fade quickly. A moonlit clearing. A smirk pulling at his lips as he follows her voice.

"E! Delavir! Delavir! Delavir!" he hears the girl growl. Tamaris huffing voice laughs. "Ma! Ma, din'el dirthal o'ma, fen!" she growls out before sighing and repeating herself in common,"You! You, no more vocalizations from you, wolf!" The wolf snickers. Solas slows, it had been a long time since a part of him wanted to do that. "If you are be like this you could at least help me! I'm doing this for you!"

"What are you doing that requires assistance?" Solas asks stepping out from behind a tree and looks upon the elvhen girl for the first time. Eyes unclouded. Her hair didn't contain some feathers, it was all feathers. Black feathers shining blue, and green. Her skin wasn't as pale as captured moonlight, it was made of it. Her form only held together by her own will. Air and moonlight swirling around her, through her. Apart of her. Her black nails, more talons then he first assumed. Her eyes wide, and black, swirling with silver-blue dreams.

She squeaked. "I-uh...didn't expect you." she says after a moment. "I'm trying to form _him_ ," she juts her thumb to the great white wolf behind her. Looking as he did from the dream-memory he had witnessed. "armour that he can take into the Waking....but..."

"But the Fade is not the Dreaming you remember." he finishes for her.

"No." she says lowly. "No. It's not." she dims.

"I can assist you, if you would like."

She smiles and the silver-blue of her moonlit skin glows brighter.

He shows her how to form her magic in the Fade. "Can you teach me? I have no idea how to...everything in the Waking is so...heavy! I could barely breathe, it was like there were shards of glass in my throat. I have no idea how to use my magic anymore!" fright was alight in her fade-touched eyes. An Elvhen not being able to use their magic, he remembered that fear sharply as if it had only been yesterday.

"I will." he agrees easily.

"Serannasan Ma."

"Sathem lasa halani." he replies. After another long moment of silence. "Have you thought on your name?"

She sighs, her moonlit glow dimming as Tamaris padded closer letting her lean into him. "When I was small I always thought I would call myself Truth, or Trust, or Certainty or even Candor like my father. He was Dreaming Born." A Spirit of Candor that took a body. A Wisp appeared before them as her mana reached out. It bobbed up and down for a moment before taking an Elvhen shape. A tall male, with black hair, golden eyes, and bronzed skin, stood before them. The crest over his breast, and the colours he wore marked his house as one in the service of Mythal.

"Technically so was I." Solas' brow furrows, "I'm sure you heard of the little spirit that took elvhen form by some foul magics. At first thought of as a small fear. But then it was revealed that she was only a small wisp, and not a true concept. That was me." Solas blinks. He had indeed heard of the girl. And he had known of her sudden disappearance when she reached her second century. Many of the People assumed when she couldn't be found that she had released her hold over her body, as any still young spirit born could, and left the Waking world for the Dreaming.

"My mother, was Waking born," another Wisp was summoned. Shaping itself into a elvhen women, slightly shorter than the male. Her eyes, captured sunsets. Her hair the colour of spun gold. The white beads in her hair marked the House she had come from as one of Sylaise, and the coloured blue bells woven into her hair showed that her bonded was one whose House was in service to Mythal. "and she named herself Whimsy." she giggled at his bewildered emotions, "They were odd pair but they worked. Father named me Blartera, because that's where they found me, next to a lily," she closes her eyes, hesitating for a moment, "and my twin brother, the other half of my soul, was called Durglas." the two wisps released the illusion over their form. Hovering around the girl. A third wasn't called. "He wasn't their child. But-but he was still my brother. 'Ma nas'taron."

Solas now had an idea of why she was being hunted by Andruil now. In her unique circumstances...a wisp taken an elvhen form. No one had known how she came to be. "My brother, was everything I wasn't. I was awkward and shy, blunt. He had a charm and wit. He turned into a wolf one day. Then again, a true fen dun'himelan. Wolf shape shifter. You know where he ended up." At one of his Temples. By the grace of his ability to change his form like that, it would automatically mark Durglas his no matter his origins. It shamed him to say that he couldn't place the name to a face. Perhaps he left that name behind when he was sent into Fen'Harel's service.

"I had not that talent. Not as naturally as he, and I never discovered if I could...My family, our word is...was." the girl frowns, "Was our bound. My father was Mythal's Dir'vhen'an Ajual." suddenly the cut and colour of the robes the illusion of her father wore came into clarity. "I was to take his place. I _wanted_ to take his place. Make him proud of me." she sighed again, her fade-touched eyes shadowed, her moonlit glow nearly nonexistent. He could almost see through her, certainly he could see the air currents as they formed her. "One day, I, and other girls my age, to young to even chose our names, snuck away from lessons," four wisps, appeared, once more taking elvhen shape. This time as young girls. Each wearing the identical dresses, modestly cut. They were uniforms used by the students, in the most prestigious Academy in the heart of Arlathan. Their hair was braided back in the style used by all young girls of their station. Too young to chose their names.Woven into the braids were silk ribbons used to show which of the Evanuris their family's House was dedicated to.

There were twins, golden freckles dusting their cheeks and over the bridges of their noses, flamelike hair, their eyes the blue-green of the fathomless ocean depths. They bore the golden ribbons of June. One had ink stains on her hands, Solas noticed as the girl handed something to whom could only be the younger version of the women by his side. Whose eyes had been green, her hair used to be blond, the blue of Mythal's ribbons a sharp contrast. The last of the four, a girl with hair white as snow, was braided with Ghilan'nain's green ribbons.

"Ashiwyn," the women at his side pointed towards the girl with the green ribbons, "The twins, Sura, and Siuona stole siu'hyn, and that, bubbly drink that was like strawberries and cream, as you frolked in a field as the sun warmed you." he smiled, he remembered that drink well. It was made with magic and was strong enough to actually provide the amount of alcohol that it would take to make a grown elvhen intoxicated. He could expect students to steal sweet-wine, but the strawberry drink should have never been in the hands of children. "We thought ourselves so grown up. We snuck into an abandoned shrine, it was broken and overgrown, to drink and play with cards and crystals. They made me speak, knowing that I couldn't lie. I told their fortune."

"That was your talent?" if she could inherently see glimpse of the future. If she had been a spirit longer she could have embodied one of those aspects. Fate, Fortune, Chance.

"That was my talent." she repeated.

"And someone told Dirthamen." his eyes tracing the brand on her brow.

"It was his shrine. Not as abandoned as we first thought." she smiles sadly, "I was taken in the middle of the night, as we lay sleeping there in that not so abandon broken place. I never saw any of my family again. Then on I was his Eolaselan'mah." That explains the quality of the remains of the robes he saw her wearing in the dream-memories as she fled the Huntress' hounds.

"Then how did you find yourself running from Anduril?"

She's silent for a moment, lost to memories, "I had a vision." she finally begins, "Dirthamen was speaking to someone. They wanted to do more experiments. To increase my abilities. The words used were to cut me open and rearranged my insides." she chuckles mirthlessly, "I hatched a plan then, and ran. She found me. Told me to run. When she caught me. I spoke prophecy. She let me go, so she could catch me again, and again, and again." her eyes a shadowed horror. "To her I was Aenor. And always laimsa." she bites off her voice bitter. Oracle. Prey. Slave. So far from what she aspired to be in her youth.

"To be able to chose my name now...You call yourself Pride, because you were once a Spirit of Pride. You adjusted to the shock of being in a physical form better than most, because of the All-Mother. Tamaris told me. Even my father almost fell from the shock, had he not been in a physical form, he told me he might have become Deceit, or Guile."

She falls silent once more.

"I have no idea what I should call myself now. But I know that I need to decide soon. Before I wake. The shem'lens will want to know. And Clans...they think I'm...Dalish? That's the right word?" she didn't wait for his confirmation, "For the brand on my brow. I don't know what to do." she sighs as she leans more into the form of the wolf behind her. "I don't want to be known as an oracle again. Not prey, not ever. And I am no one's slave." she bit out. The winds picking up.

"How does your talent work?" he asks because he want to know, but to also bring her mind to something else.

"Mostly it's flashes, insight, I call it. I should go left instead of right. It's how I compensated when I woke, using those daggers. Everything heavy, and I was so slow. Without it I would have been seriously injured. Maybe even killed. Then there are times I do prophecies. I have no idea what I say. I can't remember. He kept me in the highest point of his tallest tower, with only myself and the darkness for complay. I went a little mad. I know that. I admit that. My form changed, adapted to how I was living. Like all of those enslaved to the _Evanuris_." she finished, her voice heavy with bitterness, and mockery.

The rest of the night in spent in silence.

 

—

 

When he joins the da'asha in the Fade after her second day of her forced unconsciousness, he sees a reflection of the room where the shem'lens have placed her in the waking world. She's sitting on the wooden floor, her back to the bed. Tamaris in his small mortal form, the only way he could fit in the cabin, was curled around her. He noticed her fingers, twisting the white fur between them.

Solas joins the others on the floor, content to sit in the silence.

"What happened?" the da'asha asks, her voice whisper soft, her moonlit glow nearly nonexistent. "To Arthalan? To Elvhenan? T-to Everything? Everyone?"

He'd hoped she would have given him more time before asking.

He casts his eyes downward, how to explain that _he's_ the reason this abomination of a world exists. The People scattered, and unrecognizable. The ignorant Dalish, proudly displaying their vallaslin, the squalor the elves within the cities lived in. The elves enslaved in Tevinter. The ones living under the Qun...

He created the Veil. Sundered the magic from the world. He's the reason Time is deadly to the elves now, and not something rational, like battle or heartache.

He knew that if he hadn't the Evanuris would have destroyed the world in ways he didn't wish to fathom. Thier banishment was the only way the could think of the stop their warmongering, and blood thirst. The casual abuse they piled onto their subjects, the Houses sworn to them, in the end it was not limited to the slaves they kept. They couldn't even stop themselves even after their competitiveness had risen to the point that they would _murder_ the best of them...

The da'asha was young when she was enslaved. Barely two centuries. He very much doubted that she cared about the political climate at the time. Considering she had been kept by Dirthamen untold number of years...how much did she know to begin with? How out of date was that knowledge in light of her continual flight from Anduril?

Where _should_ he begin. Where can he begin?

He nearly starts when he feels the da'asha's hand touch him. He looks at it for a moment. He hadn't even realized that she had moved closer to him. He allows his eye to trail the length of her arm towards her face. Silver-blue tears are falling from her eyes. "Telahna Fen'Harel...Ar ithem-I saw..." she lifts her other hand, using her forefinger to tap her temple, "The words you will chose. You need not speak them. Not yet."

"Nuvas ema ir'enastla." he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He's certain that the very air is heavy with emotion he has cycled through since the da'asha asked her questions.

She smiles softly, nodding, pushing her own understanding to mingle with his aura, using her free hand to wipe away her tears, and settled close to him.

Tamaris huffed, bringing a small fire to life in the cabin before padding over to where they sat. The wolf curled against the da'asha and laid his head on her lap. Solas noticed that she started running her fingers through his fur once more. And so they sat for the rest of the night, her hand in his. His thumb rubbing over her knuckles as absently as she pets his once second-self.

 

—

 

"El'une." She speaks as the three of them sit and watch the sunrise, sitting on a hill outside the gates of Haven. Nearly three days since the da'asha stabilized the Breach. The Fade softening the edges, making everything seem like it was awash in water-colours. Tamaris' Fade crafted armour lying in front of them. They would have to find a way to explain it away to the shem'lens "El'une." she repeats.

"Secret moon?" Solas translates.

"I know it's not proper." It's not the name of her primary attribute. Not the name of her spirit self. Her purpose. "But, it _feels_ right." she lifts her hand, her moonlit skin ever glowing. "And three of use are the only ones who know this." she waved her hand in the air. "in the Waking I'm just...pale."

"And if they ask for a second name? A clan name?"

"I will tell them I do not have one. That is true. And you haven't given them a second name."

"True." he answers with an amused smirk.

The silence it warm as they watch the sun blossom across the sky. "I want this gone." the newly named El'une blurts abruptly, her talon like nails gently caressing her brow. "I can tell them it's not Dalish and was a slave brand. They put on, because they wanted an exotic Dalish, and I didn't have one. You could research or pretend too, so..so...ar'nuven sul'revas." she finishes with a whisper.

Solas puts his thumb and forefinger to her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her fade-touched eyes a wide and wild, shining with unshed tears. "I will remove it. And if the shem'lens can not believe that I could. We will tell them some other deception, claiming my healing over it. Much like a scar."

El'une nods, or as much as she can with Solas holding her head in place.

"Nuvas ema ir'enastela." she whispers for the second time, silver-blue tears slipping from her eyes, as she smiles shyly up at Fen'Harel.

 

—

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Sorry if there seems to be a lot of elvhen this chapter!):  
> E: similar to 'oh!' or 'Ah!'  
> Delavir: stupid, nonsensical, bad way.  
> Ma! Ma, din'el dirthal o'ma, fen!: You! You, no more speaking from you, wolf!  
> Serannasan Ma: I thank you. This is a very formal 'thank you'  
> Sathem lasa halani: Pleased to give assistance. Formal and archaic.  
> Nas'taron: Twin soul.  
> fen dun'himelan: Wolf shape-shifter.  
> Aenor: prey  
> Laimsa: slave  
> Telahna Fen'Harel...Ar ithem: Hush Dread Wolf...I saw...  
> ar'nuven sul'revas: I wish for freedom.  
> Nuvas ema ir'enastela: May you have great blessings. Essentially, "Thank you so very much," as opposed to just, "Thank you."  
> Names:  
> El'une: Secret moon. El'u (Secret) + Evune (Moon)  
> Durglas, not necessarily a name, but a word what means valley, dale, _Vale_ , glen  
> 


	11. Shadow Puppets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end.

—

 

She wakes with a gasp her body calling her spirit forcefully for the first time in three days. A gasp and the sound of a small object falling to the ground makes her instincts kick in, she off the bed, her eyes searching for an escape route before she realizes who startled her.

When she catches sight of a small elvhen girl, shaking. Her fear, embarrassment, awe and worship coming off her in waves. El'une puts her own aura out to sooth the shaking child. She watches as the girl falls softly to the ground, her head bowed in worship, begging the 'Herald's' pardon and blessing. El'une's aura swirls around the girl, whose own stays stubbornly within her.

El'une's eyes widen. She accepted when the humans and dwarfs wouldn't be able to sense each other like this, but...but...this girl was an elf. Elven. not Elvhen. Her face is too round. Her ears don't cut a sharp enough point. Words tumbling out of her mouth before she remembers that this elf wouldn't, couldn't understand. "Tar. Gara tar! Mar tel'laimsa, tel'sul'anasha em!"

The girl's eyes dart up to look at her. Wide in her fear and confusion. "Stand, please Oinu." she names the girl, "You are not beneath me. No one is."

"If you says so milady." Oniu says, her eyes drifting downward as worry, uncertainty, distrust and hope bleed from her in barely there wisps.

Were all the people here so...so... _Tranquil_? The word brings itself to her mind. The knowledge bubble Solas had left behind, and her own mirror shard memories, reminds her what that means.

These poor souls. So dead to the world. El'une realized that none, none but her and Solas could feel how heavy, dull and lifeless this world was.

"Do you know if I'm expected anywhere. Or if I might bathe and eat first?" El'une asks as her mind tried to recover from the horror, and pity her thoughts invoked within herself.

"The Lady Seeker Cassandra told me, to tell you, to meet her in the Chantry at once! At once she said!" Oinu babbled.

"Atisha. I will go. Where is it? And do I have something I haven't slept in to wear?"

"It's It's the Chanty, Your Worship. It's the largest building in Haven milady!" Oniu moves swiftly, if shakely around the room, pulling a drawer outwards. "There should be something to your liking here milady." she drops into a curtsy and scurries away, leaving the small wooden box where it had fallen.

El'une blinks. Twisting her magic with a thought, and summons Tamaris to her. She wonders if she would have gotten the elf girl to even speak if she had her wolf by her side.

This time there is no need for his initial deception, and Tamaris' form floats together, seeming to shape himself out of star light. "Should I have named you U'vun, or Lean, e! What of Lea'vune?" she asked with a wry smirk. Her fen'falon huffs and rolls his eyes. Shaking his fur, and attempts to brings forth his Fade crafted armour. He growls when his efforts failed and his new, and beautifully crafted armour stayed stubbornly within the Fade. Her fen'falon grumbles, El'une frowns. She'd hoped that his fade-crafted armour would work as the same would have worked in the Dreaming...

Tamaris huffs once more, before he noses the fallen box.

El'une sets her disappointed and melancholy thoughts away as she looks through the clothing in the drawer. Nothing she see immediately draws her eye favourable. No yellow. No grey. Those were the colours of Andruil and Dirthamen. She sighs, she might not even wear green now. That was Ghilan'nain's colour, and she was Andruil's lover. The blue was a possibility, Mythal was the best of the pantheon, the Evanuris, and her family had been under her protection and in her service since time immemorial.

El'une sighs as she digs through the drawer. She knows that no one will know what any of what she's wearing _means_ , but she will. Solas will.

She still has Dirthamen's brand on her brow. She doesn't want to invoke any other emotions involved with the complex relationship within the pantheon within herself, nor within Solas either.

Biting back a curse she let the option of her clothing go for now. Instead she turns to the mirror hanging on the wall. A brush, and a handful of pins are in the drawer directly under it. She styles her hair in a complicated up do. Something she thinks her mother, Whimsy wore on more than one occasion. She didn't have any beads to represent herself being an unbonded women, whose family served Mythal. She would not wear the coloured bells until she were bounded. Signifying the Evanuris her beloved was in service too. If her mate's family was likewise bound to the protection and service of Mythal those bells would be coloured blue. Golden for June, green for Ghilan'nain, orange for Elgar'nan, and so on. But the few feathers that remained despite the glamour that was anchored to her to make her appears as any other elf would have to do instead of either adornment. It would be simple enough to work around them, moving them to complement the style.

No slave would ever dare to style their hair like this.

She glared at Dirthamen's brand in the mirror. Despite _this_ she was free.

Her mother's House before she bounded to her father was, Sulatisha, swarn to the service of Sylaise, and her father joined House Shivanathash (Shivanathash.Shivanathash.Shiv-68437. 668437.66-Mamae. Ma-), El'une shutters as she forces the memories back. It would do nothing to fall back into darkness. The light is warm. She can see it reflecting off the snow from the window.

When her father took physical form, he joined Shivanathash, El'une thinks deliberately, House sworn to Mythal.

It was a miracle that they even met, her father had spent most of his time in Mythal's various estates, and Arlathan, while her mother was born in a small provincial town; Arlatharlise. It had been a chance encounter in the Dreaming that brought them together. Her mother had of course, only ventured to that part of the Dreaming on a whim.

With thoughts of her parents in mind she chose a white undershirt. White legging, a little dingy, but not dirty. Black scarf was torn to make foot wraps, only because it would be harder to see stains of use on black, she would need to find proper leather ones sooner rather than later. Then finally a soft blue tunic, too long for her, but she belts it with the remains of the black scarf. With a smirk, she wonders what the Dread Wolf will make of that.

She takes one last look at herself in the mirror. Flaring her magic out to alter the glamour she wore. Adding light makeup, something subtle and elegant, complementing her, before she frowns, glaring at the mark on her brow, because of the magic used to brand her she couldn't use her own power to hide it. Tamaris huffed, padding over to her. Licking her hand. She smoothed out the furrow in brow, and placed a pretty smile upon her lips, taking his scruff between her fingers to calm herself. It was a telling habit, but one she was unlikely to stop. Then she rubbed over his ear, then behind it, crouching down to whisper into his ear. "'Ma Fen'falon. Vira irotha, vena 'ma par or el'las'in. Melena sule ar'sasha sul'ema ra em."

She stands, smirking as Tamaris fades out of sight.

She takes a fortifying breath of this tasteless, magicless air and walked out the door.

 

—

 

It had been a great many years since she was anyone look upon her this openly. The last that been in the years when she was ever at Dirthamen's side. Many would look to her for her insight then. Fearing what she would say, but praying that she would say anything.

El'une wonder wistfully if this was how she would have been looked upon if she lived the life her parents planned for her.

The varied looks of awe, joy, hope and faith, were contrasted with the hatred, despair, disgust, and, contempt were something that reminded her of walking hand in hand with her father down the rune carved, sparkling market street.

Many had hated him. Reviled him for his role as Dir'vhen'an Ajual, that lead to many oaths sworn, broken and kept. The majority of the People knew that his role was a vital one. Loved him, and respected him for being the one to document and bind the People's oaths and vows.

She hid a smirk. She was acting as she would have had that life played out, and not her untold centuries in slavery. She could feel the wisps of confusion falling from these shem'lens. Her back straight, her shoulders back, her head high. Her hair styled elegantly, her ears proudly on display. Oh what a puzzle was she? She swallowed a giggle, but her aura sparkled with mirth, oh she was going to turn this dead Waking world on it's head.

 

—

 

The Chantry is easy enough to find. Not with the directions Oinu had given her, but for the hope, desperation and _faith_ pouring off the great stone building.

The hinges well oiled, the wood of the door well worn, but loved. Stepping into the Chantry's warm embrace, it seemed to whisper to her. _'Be safe my child. You are wanted. You are loved. There is hope. Always.'_ If she didn't find herself hating everything this...Chantry stood for, she might enjoy living in such a place.

She feels the anger, frustration, annoyance. Fear. A half a moment before she hears the raised voices coming from the back of the Chantry.

She assumes that is where the Seeker is.

She opens the door without knocking. The man in the robes, the Chancellor, demands they she be arrested.

"Belay that, and leave us." Cassandra speaks.

Templars obey the Seeker without hesitation, and she watches as the baffled shock shapes itself onto Roderick's face, his litless shel'len aura following suite. She steps through the door as the Templars walk past her, closing the door behind them. She watches as the Chancellor puffs up, sputtering his accusations, El'une handles them with the grace she would have used before she became Andruil's Aenor, and was still Dirthamen's Eolaselan'mah. She knows she's impressed the shem'len in the purple hood. She assumes that in this age many elves don't have the same social graces she's been portraying.

She watches as Cassandra, and Leliana make their own accusations, Cassandra dropping a heavy tome on the table. A writ, from the Divine. Cassandra walking forward, stalking the Chancellor—he falling back with his tail between his legs. She smirks as she lets her own amusement colour the room. Even though no one here could feel it.

She agrees to help voluntarily. This way she might attain certain freedoms, more easily. They need her and everyone in the room knows it. She is the only one with the key. A precarious line they all would need to walk, until trust could form between them. _If_ trust could form between them.

The Commander of the Inquisition forces is already training the new recruits, but they are still awaiting the arrival of the Inquisition's Ambassador, a women still several days away from Haven.

They tell her that she will be required to attend these council meetings. They give her leave to wander Haven. She knows that someone will be sent to watch her. Make sure she doesn't flee.

If these shems had any sense they would know that she was sworn to aid the. She vowed to close the Breach. They couldn't _feel_ the vow tethering her here. El'une bit back a sigh. They were just pale shadows of what once was. It was as if they were imitations of people.

 

—

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Tar. Gara tar! Mar tel'laimsa, tel'sul'anasha em!: Up. Get up! Your no slave, no servant to me!  
> Oniu: baby rabbit. not as an insult "rabbit" that is used by some people in Thedas, but as a name, because the serving girl reminded El'lune of a frightened rabbit. Much like how she was named Blartera for being by a Lily.  
> Atisha: peace, calm.  
> E: similar to 'oh!' or 'Ah!'  
> U'vun: star.  
> Lean: Glow  
> Lea'vune: Moonlight  
> Sulatisha: A House name meaning, Song of Peace.  
> Shivanathash: A House name meaning, To do one's duty,specifically, willingly, without being told, with joy and honor  
> Arlatharlise: A City name meaning, Home of Hearth  
> Vira irotha, vena 'ma par or el'las'in. Melena sule ar'sasha sul'ema ra em.: Go swiftly, and find my bag of great secrets. Wait until I am alone to give it to me.


	12. A Foundation in Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait for this! No excuse really just writers block. I'm not entirely happy with this, but it's still better then nothing. I hope you guys still like it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:   
> Dar'eth Shiral: Safe journey, a formal way to say farewell, or goodbye.  
> Fen'falon: wolf friend.

—

 

As she steps out of the Chantry she lets her magic taste the air. She ignores the elf Sister Leliana sent to watch her. His face marked by Dirthamen. Maybe the women thought that should her spy be discovered she would be more forgiving, because of their shared vallaslin and pointy ears.

El'une shakes her head, feeling her feathers brush along her neck. Purposefully walking the opposite way from where she can feel Solas' own aura. They want her to be a figurehead. She might as well start now.

She settles a soft pretty smile on her lips. Using her now, regrettably, unique ability to tell the emotion of the men and women wondering Haven. And used that to her advantage. She soothed fears. Eased guilt. Spoke words these shadow people, wanted, _needed_  to hear.

That far away part of her that thought of this as a game stirred. Murmuring that Cole would be proud of her. Shifting through her faded far away memories, she smiled. More genuine now, thinking that a Spirit of Compassion would be proud of her.

She hugs small children when they tug at her too long tunic. Waving away their fretting parents. "Don't bother the Herald child!" the parent would berate their children.

"They're not a bother." she would reply. There would be smiles.

Slowly, she made her way across Haven. Familiarizing herself with how the village was in the Waking, and familiarizing herself with the pale-shadows that called themselves people.

Until her feet and her faded memories took her to the central fire where Varric was poking at it with a stick. Bianca sat next to him, with the humming spirit of love resting on top of the crossbow, kicking her legs back and forth.

She wondered how the dwarf would react to know that a spirit had claimed him, and his crossbow.

"Ah, Hello Master Tethras." she greats from behind him, sitting herself on one of the logs around the fire.

"Now, none of that from you kid."

"So Varric then?" El'une watches as the dwarf smiles. "Well that makes two of us. My name is El'une. So use that." she finishes with an impish smile.

"El'une?" Varric repeats trying out her name. Then gives her a look probably meaning that she would be getting a nickname sooner rather than later.

"So Varric, where has Tamaris run off to?" she asks, because it would be expected of her to do so.

"The wolf? He's been spending his time with Chuckles." it struck her then that Varric had given the Dread Wolf that nickname. When most of the Dalish legends have him..what was it...giggling madly and hugging himself in glee. She wondered how Solas felt about his nickname.

"I should have known." El'une nodded solemnly, before she grinned. "Tamaris is a bit...particular. I'm shocked that you managed to keep him away from me."

"He almost didn't, but even a wolf's got to eat."

"True enough." she said with a smile, but he really didn't he was more spirit than flesh. He could take physical form because of their connection, if it wasn't for that, he would be like any other spirit. Stronger than the average Spirit, perhaps, but still a spirit.

They talk for several more minutes until Varric grunts, and shoos her away. "Go on, kid, you're nearly dancing. I know you want to go find that wolf of yours."

She flashes him a bright smile to hide the pain of the unknown meaning double meaning of his words.

"Dar'eth Shiral." she says before she remembers to speak in common. She sputters, trying to explain, but Varric waves her off.

"You too kid. You too."

 

—

 

As she walks around the tavern toward where she can feel Solas' aura she's intercepted by another elf, her face bare. Clad in medium armor, carrying herself like one of Leliana's people.

"Sister Nightingale requests your presence in the Chantry."

El'une smiles as she blinks at the brisk way this elf spoke. "I'll be right there then," the elf nodded and darted away.

Well, it looks like she's not going to speak with Solas just yet.

Retracing her steps back to the Chantry, the faith pouring off the building enveloping her as it pulled her into the building. The Spirit of the Chantry embracing her as it had before, whispering it's reassurances into her ear.

It was nice knowing that not everything in this world was a pale shadow of what once was.

Cassandra meets her just inside the great doors. "When word reached our Ambassador that you were awake, she had her party quicken their pace. She has just arrived as wants to begin right away."

"O-okay." from what she remembers of Josephine Montilyet, she had assumed the women would have wanted a bath first before getting down to business, but then again. That women was a workaholic, and the Inquisition had been without any real diplomats on hand since the Conclave...exploded. It made more sense now, thinking about it that the women would want to get down to business.

After Cassandra finishes with the introductions of the people El'une has vague recollections of, though Josephine is still wearing her travel cloths and not the golden dress with the ruffles her memories have her wearing like armor. Noting that even though they are The members of the Council there is a lot of back and forth. It's mostly bickering.

No one trusts the Inquisition. No one believes that Andraste's chosen is a Dalish - El'une has to fight to keep her eyes from rolling - elf. No one believes that they can _do_ anything. So the rest of the world is going to revel in the chaos it's actions have created, then look to the _one_  organization that wants to restore order.

It isn't long until the Ambassador is asking for her name.

"El'une." she says, "I have remembered much after the Breach stabilized, but not all, unfortunately."

"And what is the name of your Clan?" Lady Montilyet asks with a charming smile.

"I have no clan."

"But you _are_  Dalish."

"No. No. I'm not."

"But your facial tattoo...?" Josephine trails off.

"It's a slave brand." she says enjoying the varying looks of shock, disgust and anger. "Oh, yes, I was a slave for a great many years. They wanted an exotic Dalish. I didn't have any marks, so they gave me some." She sighs, "I was going to as Solas if he'd encountered some magic in the Fade to remove this, my brand. I haven't had the chance to see him yet today."

El'une waits a moment, she senses the tension in the room. The sighs, "I don't have any family. I have no friends, no one except for Tamaris. He's actually the only reason I was able to finally escape the hunt - " she purposefully cuts herself off, she doesn't want to lie to them, she has never met these shems, but she feel affection towards them, so she allows them assume slave hunters, and not the baying of the once people hounds and the ever cackling laughter of the Huntress herself. "...When I fell from the Fade, the rift, did I have anything with me?" she wonders if they'll admit to have her bag, or if her fen'falon had hidden it away before they could take it.

"There was nothing. No." Leliana steps forward. Her face placid, but her aura nearly shouting with secrets, and lies. El'une couldn't sense the truth of her answer, the women had a very impressive control over herself.

"Thank you. It wasn't that important." El'une smiles, if they did have her bag, they wouldn't know what to do with it. "If I may take my leave? I haven't eaten since I woke, and I still need to speak with Solas, take Tamaris off his hands."  
They nod, letting her leave. It might not be kind, the emotional cocktail she's leaving behind, but she refuses to be propped up as a Dalish...icon.

With what she just told them they'll change their angle, probably something that works with their Maker stories. El'une heaves a sigh, her feet taking her to the part of the village she knows from her far away memories that he's claimed as his. The closer she gets she knows she headed in the right direction. His aura twists in greeting, when she steps into range. She wills hers to reply in kind.

  
El'une shutters, her mind on other things. They might start calling her a girl Shartan.

 

  
—


End file.
